The Elder & The Pipsqueak (And the Damsel in Distress)
by annaisadinosaur
Summary: In which Gideon plans a surprise party for Fabian, and Dorcas makes fun of Gideon, and Fabian has plans of his own.


Hi everyone. So my stress has caused me to write a very light-hearted, fluffy piece.. I hope you enjoy. I do love my Gideon and Fabian Prewett. As well as Dorcas Meadowes. Yeee-uumm.

Written for the Quidditch League round 11, with the prompts party, trickery, and sweet as honey, for the Chudley Cannons as Chaser 2.

. . .

**The Elder & The Pipsqueak (And The Damsel in Distress)**

_aka Ain't No Party Like a Prewett Party Coz a Prewett Party Don't Stop_

. . .

To a particularly Wizardly citizen of below average intelligence, the room—then bustling with a shower of lights and a pulsating of obnoxious music—would have appeared to be a perfectly ordinary Prewett party. Specifically that of the Gideon Prewett category, because anyone that knew anything knew that Gideon had the better parties; but that was of little consequence at that given moment.

Though it was in fact a party on behalf of the magnificent Gideon Prewett, it was not an _ordinary_ party. You would have had to have gone to a few of the infamous events to tell, but it was blatantly obvious. The music was strangely off pitch, the lights were blinking a little too fast, and all of the guests wandered about like they'd been transplanted there from a foreign planet. Also, and probably most importantly, the host—who often asserted himself as the center of attention at these sorts of things—was mysteriously absent.

At the back of the front room, Dorcas Meadowes was standing with her back against a tall bookshelf. With her arms folded over her chest and her gaze set in the general direction of nowhere in particular, she looked a little intimidating, but in a way one might deal with a bothersome little brother.

"Really," she said, loudly, her voice then a long string of the same syllable, "you ought to come out, Gideon. The party's a blast."

"Can't," came the reply from behind the bookshelf. "But I must know. Did you pick out the music, Meadowes?"

Nonchalantly, "Well, you weren't around to turn it on, were you?"

"You are unbelievable. Who even likes _Chasing Quaffles_? Does anyone listen to _Chasing Quaffles_? In the entire universe? Just one person?"

She gasped in horror. "Did you just say that? You didn't just say that!" In a whirl of movement—one that caused her rather nice blonde hair to flip with the turn of it—she'd spun herself around the corner of the bookshelf, and had him by the lapel of his coat. "Out! Now! No more hiding behind this shelf!"

"Ouch—watch it, Meadow!" he cried out as he stumbled beneath the seizure-inducing lights of the festivities. In the light, his whole head of hair seemed to shine like a pumpkin. Having lost his balance and then keeled over at his middle, he was nearly the height of Dorcas. When he stood up—and he did, just a moment after cursing her name and all of her great grandchildren—he towered at least a foot above her. And she was hardly a short girl. "What, do _you_ listen to _Chasing Quaffles_?"

"Obviously, you great git." She fumed for a moment, and then uncrossed her arms. "My cousin's in the band. 'Course, I think he does backup vocals or something, but that's not the point."

He held up his hands. "I apologize. _Dearly_. May I go back to my hiding spot now?"

"No!" she shouted crossly, and pulled him farther back to prove a point. "You're being absolutely ridiculous. Why don't you just talk to your brother instead of inviting a bunch of random people on the street over to your house to dance around your den awkwardly and drink your poisonous punch? That's what everyone else in the universe does when they have an argument with their sibling. They discuss the matter. You know, like human beings."

"_You poisoned my punch?_"

"Oh, I didn't need to," she muttered.

"You don't like the punch?"

"It tastes like feet."

"_Feet?_" Gideon shrieked.

"Yes."

"Clean feet?"

"Just the opposite, mate."

"And you never _told_ me?"

"Frankly," said Dorcas, "no one cares about your punch. It sucks. Whatever. The problem of the hour is your lack of functional communication with your brother. Which I, even more frankly, just don't get. You're twins. Aren't you supposed to be telepathic or something?"

"Supposed to be? What have you been reading, The Universal Twin Doctrine?"

"Oi." She pointed her finger at him. "Don't you go changing the subject now."

"But Fabian loves parties!" He paused. "Except maybe not ones where there's _Chasing Quaffles_ music. But it's his birthday, and everyone deserves a party with strangers on their birthday."

"Oh, yes. That's the reason your brother hasn't shown up to the party. _That's_ what it is."

"Are you implying something, Miss Meadowes?"

"I'm just saying. Maybe he's decided he's twenty three years old and would like to behave like it!"

"My dear." He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, and with a bit of flourish, he ushered them into the pulsing of the rather strange party. They were walking, slowly, and Dorcas made a face up at him. "I believe you have your definitions of twenty-three year old dashing young male and eighty-five year old British broad completely muddled."

She wiggled away from him. "That's it. I'm calling your brother."

"No! Dorcas! You can't!" he protested, and made quite a show of pulling her back in the fashion of wrapping his arms around her waist. He only squeezed her middle tighter as she tried to forcefully remove his arms. "That's the surprise of it, you see? And Fabian loves surprises! I just tell him where I am, and he supposes that's where he ought to be, too—I don't even _have_ to invite him. It's all part of the fun! It's trickery! You can't actually tell him there's a party or that I actually even want him to be anywhere. It's all weighing in on the coincidence of everything!"

She rolled her eyes. "Don't care. All I'm hearing is _nonfunctional please help me I don't know how to have a normal relationship with anyone including the carbon copy of myself_..."

"You think you're funny."

"Can you let go of me?"

"Not until you promise not to call Fabian!"

"Fine, Gideon," she grumbled, squirming in his arms, "Fine, I won't call him."

"Okay." He grinned wide and let her go. "See, how simple was that? He'll be here within the hour, I'll promise you that."

"Mmhm," she said, slipping away from him, "Hold on, I've got to use the loo."

"You're not." He watched her suspiciously. "Are you?"

"Not going to use the loo?"

"DORCAS MEADOWES!"

She began to laugh loudly, and said, "Gideon, I don't know what..." but mid-sentence she seemed to change her mind and set off in a sprint for the opposite direction.

As she ran—and as he chased after her—the force of her cutting through the room blew her hair back over her shoulders. The two of them were like birds; she had her arms spread out wide (and found herself knocking into a few bodies and definitely not empty cups) and he was flying over the chaos in her wake (though it looked more like hopping than flying). She was laughing, though it was mingled with her exhausted breathing; he was screaming after her, though it really sounded more like squawking. Which only made her laugh—and gasp—harder.

They'd managed to tear through the length of the house, when Dorcas doubled over and waved her imaginary white flag. It had been a short run, but Dorcas preferred to busy herself with activities that specifically did not involve the word exercise. Gideon, meanwhile, played Club Quidditch, though the actual exercise element of Quidditch was a point to be argued over. And one that Dorcas and Gideon did argue over, quite frequently.

At that given moment, however, Dorcas had just come to a stop, and Gideon—athletic though he claimed himself to be—did not have quite the reflex or foresight to stop himself in time. The fact that they collided together in a rather unchoreographed, disastrous mess was therefore an incident fated by the very universe. Or simply a result of their combined lack of coordination, but the idea was the same.

And if there was anything Dorcas hated more than exercise, it was getting tangled in a heap on the floor. She was, literally, quite tangled, as she tried to squirm away and found herself yanked back harshly at the scalp. Her long hair was caught in the zipper of his jumper.

"Oh, you're joking," she groaned (not unlike a walrus). She took her hair in her hands and gave another tug, but the zipper only whined.

"Just how'd you do that?" said Gideon slowly, face a bit pink. It was likely due to the predicament they were in—it was a strange one, at that. Somehow in the process they'd managed to roll around a bit, and she was half on top of him, half splayed out on the floor. There seemed to be too much of the former for the both of them, though, what with the rising color of their two faces.

"I didn't _mean_ to. Mind undoing your jumper?"

"Quite risqué, that."

"Is it?" Promptly, she wacked him in the forehead.

"Ow!"

"Help me get my hair out without making me bald!"

"Might be worth the risk."

"Shut it, Prewett."

"Yeah, yeah," he sighed, and swatted away her hands. He stared down at the zipper for a good five minutes in sheer and utter silence, his long fingers pulling the strands of her hair free individually from the front of his jumper.

Her eyes were on his face while he furrowed his brow in concentration. Caught up in the moment, a little grin broke out on her face. She was still grinning when he'd finished, and forgot to stop when he looked up.

"All right, all done," he said, and gave her an awkwardly friendly pat on the shoulder. She shifted, if only a little. He cocked his head to the side, just a tad. "What's that face for?"

She blinked. "Oh. Was I making a face?"

"Yep."

"Sorry. Just... my face. Nothing special."

"Well, I wouldn't say that." He paused. "I reckon your mother thinks you're plenty special."

"Prewett, have I mentioned, shut it?"

But this time, it was Gideon who grinned. He said nothing after this, though, and instead rose, holding out his hand to help her up. Begrudgingly she accepted it, and the gesture lasted a little longer than what was strictly required. The grin had faded mostly from her face, though traces of it were still in her eyes. She looked like she was staring into the sun, but like it was the other way around, like it was behind her eyes.

"Come on," he announced, and did a little hop with a little enthusiasm. He looked silly and childish, but that wasn't strictly out of the norm for Gideon Prewett. "Let's go walk over to the punch. I've got an idea."

"Next time you'll buy the punch at the market instead of endangering the lives of a hundred strangers?"

He glanced backwards at her. "You think there're a hundred people here?"

"Well, I dunno. It's not like you ever document who comes in or out. Place could be full of Death Eaters, for all you knew."

"Nah. What sort of Death Eater waits around Flourish and Blotts for party invitations? That's where all these people are from, you know. Flourish and Blotts. It's like a book club meeting."

"Does Fabian even know how to read?"

"Watch it, Meadowes. You just consider yourself lucky I even invited you. It was a very tight guest list."

She rolled her eyes. "Now, tell me, before I start going gray. What's this random idea of yours?"

They were at the punch bowl then, and he waited till he'd filled a glass before turning back to her. When he did, he only smiled. Wickedly. "Either you're in or you're out." Nonchalantly, with a motion as easy as breathing, he knocked back the glass of punch, and gasped for breath when he'd drained it. "Poison? How could that ever be poison? It's as sweet as honey! It's like eating a staircase to Heaven!"

"Stop." She held a hand over his face, where he had to peek really closely between her fingers to see her at all. "I'm in. Fine. Yes. I'm in."

. . .

Gideon stopped behind the overturned chair and peeked over the seat. His hair was sticking up obnoxiously in the front, like he'd done it on purpose, and it bled over the top of the barrier rather counteractively. But he didn't care; in fact, he turned around with a gaping wide grin on his face and shot Dorcas a thumbs up, as well as a hushed "Shhh!" to the fifty people all squatting behind her. Dorcas scooted closer to him, though he didn't seem to notice.

"How do you know he's here?" whispered Dorcas. Her breath went straight down his neck, and though his face remained fixed, he gave a little bit of a shiver.

"Told me so."

"He told you? What for?"

"Oh, just a remark in passing."

"But I thought you weren't speaking?"

"We aren't."

"Except for when you inform one another when you plan on leaving a room," said Dorcas. "Right."

"Right."

"Where are we, though? It's strange. There's a hedge outside in the shape of an elephant."

"You like that? That was me. Did it with my bare hands." And he held up his hands, wiggling his fingers, as if this was proof of it. "It's our Gran's house. 'Course, I think she's sleeping, but all the same. It's lovely, isn't it?"

"Oh, yes... that's a, uh... well, word. In general..."

"Shhh!" Suddenly he leaped at her and covered her mouth with his hands. She protested this at once and clawed at his hands, but he just stared wide-eyed through a crack between two seats. Then slowly he removed his hands and waved them at the group behind him, excitement gradually building in his eyes.

Dorcas turned her head. In the doorway was Fabian Prewett, tall and so Gideon-like, if not a bit more scruffy around the jaw. He was saying something, though it wasn't very clear _what_ he was saying, and he kept glancing behind his shoulder. Dorcas met Gideon's gaze, and he nodded. It was quite obviously _the _moment they were waiting for, and they didn't waste a moment.

In the span of three seconds, however, they missed one very crucial element to the plot. Fabian had spotted Gideon. He'd locked his eyes on his brother, and something in his expression changed, much as Gideon's had when he'd spotted Fabian. He was grinning. Mischievously.

So, maybe, if Gideon had caught this, the evening would have turned out entirely different.

But he hadn't, and it didn't.

The moment Gideon shot up to his feet, it was like a mirror had been erected and the two brothers stood facing each other with their mouths open wide and screaming. Gideon in particular looked like a maniac war general, with his arms flailing over his head, but Fabian didn't look much different (unsurprisingly). Two seas of people stampeded past the redheads all at once, their voices resonating and yelling, "_SURPRISE!_"

And then they stopped. About a hundred people paused mid-step, and all the eyes turned to the two men, who looked just as dumbfounded. Gideon's brows were about a mile high in the air, and Fabian's mouth was hanging low.

"Well," said Dorcas. "Remind me never to hire you two as my party planners, eh?"

"It was my plan first," said Fabian, crossing his arms.

Gideon gasped. "Was not!"

"I was born first," said Fabian. "So, technically."

"Second's always the best."

"More like second's always second best."

Gideon pointed a finger at his brother. "And to think I planned this whole thing for you!"

"And to think you brought all these people I don't even know to Gran's house, when you _know_ she's sleeping!"

They went on for a while before Dorcas, rolling her eyes at the ceiling, threw her hands up and announced that she was leaving. Someone had apparently discovered a portable radio and the crowd was now swaying along to it, so it was a bit harder to get out, but she managed herself well enough. The boys watched her go, and Gideon turned wildly to Fabian.

"I should go after her, shouldn't I?"

"Technically," said Fabian, "I think she was my friend first."

"Clearly I'm her favorite, brother."

"I don't know about clearly. Maybe foggily. Maybe a few times week. Not routinely, maybe."

"Shall we go?"

Fabian grinned, and then dropped an arm around his brother's shoulders. "We should. You never know what sort of people we invited. Anything could happen to her."

Gideon glanced at his brother as they loped after Dorcas casually. He poked Fabian in the side and sported a grin that was nearly identical to his brothers. "By the way," he said, "happy birthday, you elderly man."

"Yep, happy birthday," said Fabian. "Pipsqueak."


End file.
